


Orphanage

by MissVile



Series: Destane's Apprentice [1]
Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin - All Media Types, Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVile/pseuds/MissVile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Mozie's childhoood, during the movie (not Aladdin-centric, sorry), and up to when Mozie overthrows Destane. People always do stories where Mozie was corruted by Destane, so I decided to do a story where Mozenrath was innately evil- He didn't have to be corrupted, because he already was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orphanage

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt at extending the Aladdin universe, so it'll be as canon as possible. If I make a mistake, please inform me so I can ammend it. Thank you.

Chapter One  
Orphanage

It was high time for him to look for an apprentice.  
Destane had been Lord of the Black Sand for a while, now, having overthrown the sorcerer-king who had previously ruled the land. Destane had then proceeded to consolidate his power, and had been busy with quelling the rebellions that had sprang up among the populace of the city state. He’d only ever intended for the whole affair to be a petty act of revenge, against one who had badly wronged him in his youth; but he’d ended up with a kingdom on his hands.  
He’d been far too busy, for far too long, but the fact remained that he still required an apprentice. Destane had never gotten around to getting married, much less having a child of his own. Besides, he thought, smoothly sweeping through the Merchants’ Quarter of Agrabah, such a thing is forbidden. Teaching magic to one’s own offspring almost always sowed the seeds of favouritism and discord. In that same vein, it was not seen as a wise thing to get too close to one’s disciple, lest they should be killed by a rival magician.  
In the past, when wizards and witches trained their own sons and daughters, wars had begun this way.  
Hence his foray into Agrabah.  
It was not a journey he regularly made; preferring to either remain in his own lands, or to visit Getizstan, where he was unknown and could readily vanish into any crowd. Here, however, the Grand Vizier knew his by name and reputation, if not face. While Destane was hardly afraid of the man, he was also aware the Jafar was devious and ambitious, if nothing else. If he discovered that Destane was in what was, essentially, his territory, there would be hell to pay. Especially since the man quite literally had the Sultan’s ear.  
So, while in this land, he would use a nom de plume. It was safer that way.  
He marvelled at how different Agrabah was to his own kingdom- Dark magic tainted the very air of the Land of the Black Sand, and the sky itself was haunted by a seemingly perpetual miasma. Considering the lack of sunlight, it’s a wonder that I don’t have rickets, he mused.  
Not that Agrabah was a paradise, compared to his own lands.  
This city-state had its own teeming slums, pestilence and crime. Although, all of those things were carefully hidden away, far from the rich quarter of the city, where foreign dignitaries and the like frequented. The areas lived in by the rich and by the poor might as well have been different worlds.  
It was not here that Destane would find what he sought. Instinct told him that he should visit the slums. The side of the city that the rich pretended did not exist. It’s rather like a nasty little secret.  
It was a long walk through the covered walkways and richly decorated buildings of the Merchants’ Quarter to his destination. He felt a desire to walk this way, and his instincts were usually correct.  
Destane came to a halt at a low wall, the boundary that marked the beginning of the slums. Just beyond that wall was a small yard where a careworn young woman herded children of varying ages around her. Some she scolded, some she laughed with.  
The sorcerer only caught snatches of conversation, as the laughter of playing children drowned out much of what she had to say.  
It was an orphanage.  
Something at the edge of his vision caught his attention: In a shaded corner sat a young boy, of around six or seven, separate from his peers. He was reading a book. It was only a thin tome, most likely only containing children’s stories, but it was valuable, all the same. Books were a rare and valuable commodity, and most were obtained through the laborious process of hand-copying and original text. In libraries, they were chained to the shelves and were even worth their own weight in gold.  
Someone rich must have given him the book, Destane mused. Perhaps a parent?  
No, judging by his worn, albeit well cared-for attire, he was just as much of a foundling as the other children.  
Which made him all the more remarkable: He could read, despite being so utterly poor.  
Reading was not an easily acquired skill, for only the rich possessed books in abundance, and few of those aristocrats were less than loathe to share their knowledge. Knowledge was power, as the old adage goes; and knowledge of the possibility of a better life leads to pesky rebellions. Besides, most of the rich preferred the desperately poor to stay in their “proper place”.  
Destane had no idea if the boy had any magical talent whatsoever, and latent magical abilities often stayed dormant until properly stimulated. Still...the fact that the child could already read made it an enticing thought. The boy could, at the very worst, still act as an assistant.  
Destane caught the young woman’s eye, and donned a friendly sort of smile as she approached him.  
Besides, he thought, if I get an apprentice from an orphanage, I won’t have to pay the sorts of fees I would otherwise have to if I “bought” him off a rich family. Children with magical potential were seen as capital, just as much as a princess or cattle: They could be sold to a wizard or witch, and came under the same law as slaves.  
The young woman took in his rich attire and gave him a questioning look. “Sir?”  
“I... May I have a word?” Destane tried to look non-threatening. It was not an easy thing for the most feared sorcerer in the Seven Deserts to accomplish.  
The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you wish to make a donation?”  
Destane shook his head. “No no, I wish to speak with one of your little charges.”  
“Oh? Considering an adoption?” She sounded quite enthused by the idea, and for good reason, too: They probably had too many children to look after, and too little food and water and bedding to supply the wards with.  
Destane glanced at the small boy who’d caught his eye. “I’m considering it, yes.”  
The woman followed his gaze, and her eyes fell upon the young boy. “Aahh... Perhaps you should consider someone else. He’s very...troublesome, if he he doesn’t get his way.”  
Destane raised an eyebrow. The boy’s got a bad temper? Nothing a beating can’t fix. “Regardless of that, may I speak to him?”  
The young woman nodded, and gestured to a gate on the other side of the rectangular wall, opposite where Destane was standing.  
Destane could have simply re materialised inside the courtyard, but he didn’t want to show off any magical ability, lest word of it should reach Jafar’s ears. That was an annoyance he didn’t particularly want to deal with, so he humoured her. Within moments, he’d passed through a small gate, and the boy looked up when Destane closed the latch with a click.  
Regardless of his young age, his eyes shone with intelligence, and the gaze he swept over Destane was questioning, but unconcerned. As though this was a commonplace thing, to see a man dressed so richly.  
The woman briskly strode over to the boy, and clasped his shoulder in what was meant to be a motherly fashion. “Mozenrath,” she said, “this man wishes to have a word with you.”  
The boy -Mozenrath- looked at Destane with renewed interest. With curiosity.  
The woman smiled at Destane, and was briskly spirited away by a very small girl demanding attention.  
Destane sat down on the bench Mozenrath was perched upon, reading the child’s body language. He was wary- The way he subtly moved away from the sorcerer made that much obvious.  
“Good afternoon,” Destane said, cordially.  
“...Good afternoon,” the boy mumbled, a tad reluctantly. It seemed that he didn’t much like dealing with others. He eyed Destane when he thought the sorcerer couldn’t see, his expression somewhere between curiosity and distaste.  
Destane almost chuckled, knowing what the boy meant by that look: Destane’s silken garb was flashy, almost to the point of gaudiness, and was probably more extravagant than anything this child had ever seen.  
The boy -Mozenrath, Destane reminded himself-, seemed surprised by Destane’s apparent mirth. “What’s so funny?”  
“Your reaction to my...apparel,” Destane replied, honestly. But if he’s so blunt with me if I should choose to adopt him, I would smack him for his insolence. An apprentice, no matter how lowly, is a reflection of his or her master, and it would not do for others to think I am so...lacking in manners.  
“I was...surprised to see someone like you in such a place,” Mozenrath continued, unabashed.  
The sorcerer arched one eyebrow, questioning, “Someone like me?”  
Mozenrath leant closer to the man, and glanced around, as though to check that no one else was within earshot. No one was. “A wizard,” the boy answered in a conspiratorial whisper.  
Destane blinked. Was it that obvious? Has he somehow failed to conceal his true nature? No, certainly not- The woman who ran this orphanage hadn’t thought anything was amiss. Destane wasn’t even wearing the usual silk that most wizards of the silk road bedecked themselves in. No, the only way the child would have been able to tell would be if...  
...If he does, indeed, possess magical talent.  
Of course, that was no indication of just how much magic the boy might have, merely that he had some. It might even be an insignificant quantity.  
Still... The possibility was tantalising...  
Destane considered his options, and came to a decision.  
Making sure that no one was looking, he reached out one gloved hand. Scarlet magical energy enveloped the glove, and an apple materialised out of thin air. The sorcerer carefully checked Mozenrath’s expression. Instead of the fearful one Destane had been expecting, he saw a look of hunger spread across the boy’s pale features.  
And not just for the apple.  
Power... Destane could relate to that.  
“I was right,” Mozenrath breathed, his eyes wide with excitement. He looked up into Destane’s eyes. “Can...can you teach me how to do that?”  
Destane dropped the apple into Mozenrath’s waiting hands, and smiled broadly as the child hungrily sank his teeth into the fruit. “That and much, much more.”


	2. The Land of The Black Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mozenrath travels through the desert. Pretty much sums it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware of how short this is. There is a reason for that...one which I will tell you when I work out what it is.

Chapter Two  
The Land of the Black Sand

It was a simple matter the convince the woman that this stranger would be an appropriate foster parent for Mozenrath. Although, the boy couldn’t help but notice that the sorcerer failed to mention that Mozenrath wouldn’t be a mere son- He was to be an apprentice.  
He observed from a distance as the man who would become his foster father discussed the adoption with Mari. The woman would be pleased with the news, Mozenrath knew that much: She had a young son of her own to care for, and would get some money in exchange for Mozenrath. In light of the fact that her husband was off hunting for some great treasure, the little money she would receive would be a great financial help to her family.   
He stood in the doorway of the building, clutching to the doorway, nearly salivating at the thought of getting away. Mozenrath wasn’t from Agrabah, nor had he been born there. All that he knew of his past was that several nomads had travelled here on horseback, carrying him as an infant. They brought him to the orphanage, but claimed no responsibility for him, saying that they’d discovered him at the edge of the Agrabanian desert, abandoned.  
As a very small child, he’d yearned to be reunited with his family, thinking that he must have come from a loving home with a mother and father and siblings. That he’d simply been lost or stolen, and that somewhere out there, in the vastness of the Seven Deserts, his family were desperately searching for him. He’d quickly become more cynical.  
As the years had passed, he’d seen the children around him being adopted out, or growing up to become merchants, or simply joining the Thieves Guild. No one ever came for him.  
I don’t need friendship, and I don’t need a family. I can’t rely on anyone, because I’ll simply be abandoned again. No...what I want is to leave Agrabah. To be powerful, and have the ability to change the world around me!   
Mozenrath wasn’t like the other boys- He didn’t want to become a mere trader or a guard. Such professions relied upon little skill, and as such, gave little prestige in return. A trader was at the mercy of a bad harvest or of marauders, and guards were subject to the whims of their master.   
The idea of Politics attracted him, somewhat, but he was one of questionable birth, a hair’s breadth away from being a Street Rat. There was no way he’d ever be accepted by the aristocrats for his own merits. It had seemed hopeless.  
But now... Now, he’d finally been handed an opportunity!  
Not because of luck, but because this man saw something in him, saw potential.   
Mozenrath may have been fragile in appearance, especially when compared to boys of his own age, but he was fiercely intelligent and would do anything to achieve his goals. And if being trained to become a sorcerer wasn’t prestigious, when the Grand Vizier himself was a wizard, then Mozenrath didn’t know what was.  
He was brought out of his reverie by a loud laugh, probably from the sorcerer. Mozenrath blinked, realising that he hadn’t even bothered to ask for the man’s name. Oh, well there’ll be plenty of time for that, later.  
From where he stood, Mozenrath could see a look of distaste cross Mari’s pretty features, and he heard the jangling of coins. With that, he officially became the sorcerer’s property. It was the main downside to becoming an apprentice, but it would be so worth it...  
Mozenrath ran, to avoid being caught spying on his new master, sneaking off to the room he shared with three other boys, all about the same age as him. He gathered the few possessions he had, couple of books, and a change of clothes, stuffing them into a makeshift bag he’d crafted himself, out of stolen cloth and soft leather. It was a roughly hewn thing, but it had been made by his own hands, and he treasured it beyond everything but his books.   
He turned around, bag in hand, to see the sorcerer standing behind him, observing him from the arch of the doorway. “Is that all you own?” he asked Mozenrath. Not mocking, merely...curious? That was odd... Mozenrath was used to being treated like filth, and the string of insults he’d been expecting did not come. He felt confused and oddly lost.   
Deciding that it would not be wise to insult his new master, he merely nodded.  
The sorcerer nodded, too, his face blank. He did not pity Mozenrath, and that was good, somehow- Mozenrath despised pity. It was useless and a waste of energy. Energy that could be better spent changing the situation that might warrant that annoying emotion. Mozenrath tried not to feel pity. Ever.   
“I...Master...” the boy began, but halted when the sorcerer raised a hand to silence him. Even at his young age, Mozenrath knew it was sometimes wiser to be silent; one could often learn more, that way.   
“Destane. Don’t call me ‘Master’.” Destane’s mouth twisted with distaste as he uttered that word. It seemed to cause him some pain.  
Uncomfortable memories, perhaps?   
Mozenrath had always been poor, he’d never had a family, and he was often teased; but he’d never been abused, and he’d never truly starved. Not like a true Street Rat. He really couldn’t imagine what sort of life could cause a simple word to be associated with pain; and he’d never been very good at empathy, either. He simply couldn’t understand this man’s discomfort. But...he decided it would be better to respect the man’s wishes. For now, anyway.   
“Yes, Sir,” he nodded, eventually.   
They left the orphanage after that, with Mozenrath trailing a few steps behind the strange man who’d apparently adopted him. It seemed a little odd to him, travelling on foot when the man he was walking with was a wizard. A man beyond the normal scope of human knowledge and ability, who could doubtless teleport from place to place. Or at the very least he could enchant some ordinary object to take us to our destination... He got a sudden mental image of a flying carpet and immediately disregarded it, thinking it foolish. Not impossible, but...undignified.   
When they got to the edge of the city, Destane purchased two camels from a stable. They had horses, too. Not just irritable fleabags. Mozenrath eyed what was apparently intended to be his camel with supreme contempt. He had always hated camels.   
It took him a while to mount the damnable animal, and Destane had to help him, chuckling all the while. Mozenrath glowered at the sand at the animal’s feet, as if it had personally insulted him. He hated being laughed at, but since this man had the authority to beat him if he so desired, Mozenrath kept his mouth shut.   
There were many things that the boy disliked, and when he thought about it, it would actually be easier to make a list of the things that didn’t annoy him. It was going to be a long journey -at least a day-, so he had plenty of time to reflect on this.   
A short way into the journey, Mozenrath had slumped over his camel, tired out by the dry heat of the day. Suffocating and cloying, it was like standing in the midst of an inferno. If only had the ability to control the sun... He did, however, have the strength left to make his list:  
Things I like: Books, apples and pears, the colour blue...   
He later supposed that he must have dozed off and slept away the whole day because the next thing Mozenrath was aware of was being stationary and surrounded by an entirely alien landscape. The sky above him was dark, with a few shots of blue managing to sneak through; it was like someone had made a giant, swirling ink stain upon the very heavens. Before him were assembled a motley of crudely assembled buildings, stacked on top of one another. He couldn’t help but wonder if those buildings were structurally sound, and about what kind of people lived in them.   
He supposed he would soon find out.  
Towering above all else and perched atop a curving cliff sat the single strangest building Mozenrath had ever seen in his short life. Two large structures, connected by what looked like pipes loomed out of the darkness. Strange and almost bulbous in shape, they reminded him of a giant’s castle; of something he’d once read in a book.   
“That is the Citadel,” Destane spoke up, having noticed that his protégée was finally awake.   
Mozenrath nodded, still entranced by the sight before him. He managed to dismount the camel, feet landing softly in the dark sand that blanketed this place. He’d heard of such a thing before, dark sand. It was a natural phenomena associated with volcanoes. He wondered if there were any such things in this place, and just how far he and Destane had travelled.   
“It’s wonderful...” Mozenrath breathed, must to the amusement of his guardian.  
“I’m glad you think so,” Destane grinned, quite pleased by the boy’s awe; “Welcome to the Land of the Black Sand.”


End file.
